<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>abs of steel by contemplativepancakes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29915553">abs of steel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/contemplativepancakes/pseuds/contemplativepancakes'>contemplativepancakes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon verse, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, geralt's ridiculous ab armor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:22:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,595</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29915553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/contemplativepancakes/pseuds/contemplativepancakes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier tilts his head for a moment as he contemplates how to get his revenge, smirking when the idea dawns upon him. Jaskier sketches a quick picture and pushes it towards the armorer. “How much extra would this cost?”<br/>She looks down at the page dubiously.</p>
<p>Jaskier gives her his most charming smile.</p>
<p>- <br/>When Geralt’s armor gets damaged, Jaskier replaces it for him. Luckily for Geralt, Jaskier has some ideas on how it can be improved.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>abs of steel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier putters around the room, with one of Geralt’s dozens of tiny bottles in his hand and a rag in the other. He gives it a half hearted shine before setting it back down and looking at Geralt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier’s not sure how Geralt ever survived without him, honestly, because it seems like finding Geralt in varying states of unconsciousness is becoming a much too common occurrence. He supposes Geralt’s amount of passing out probably hasn’t changed, just the amount of times someone has coming looking for him. Jaskier’s heart does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>ache at the thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt’s chest moves shallowly under the blanket, and Jaskier goes to stoke the fire. He had sweetalked the innkeeper into giving them a better room when it had become apparent that their stay was going to be...extended, and he’s glad for it. The room has its own bath tub, and a fire place, and there’s even a soft rug by the bed where Jaskier can sit and compose without worrying about jostling Geralt’s injuries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier casts a longing glance to his notebook, wishing that he could write and make the voices in his head stop whirling, but lyrics have been evading him ever since he found Geralt unconscious and even paler than usual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt had just been going after a lesser vampire, had reassured Jaskier that it wasn’t going to be a big deal, and to not wait up, but Jaskier’s glad he did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frankly, he doesn’t know why Geralt tells him not to do things when they both know he’s not going to listen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He supposes it makes Geralt feel better. He doesn’t pretend to understand what happens in Geralt’s brain. He imagines it’s a lot of grunting and internal </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmm-</span>
  </em>
  <span>ing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt stirs under the covers, and Jaskier rushes across the room to stand by his side. Geralt blinks up at him, and Jaskier lets himself drift a hand over Geralt’s concerningly warm brow. He’s hot, but he’s not sweating, and Jaskier bites his lip. He gives Geralt what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but he thinks it might be more of a grimace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt slips a hand out from under the covers, and Jaskier takes the liberty of reaching out his own. Geralt could have died; he can’t be held responsible for his actions. “What happened?” Geralt groans, his voice scratchy and deep from disuse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good question,” Jaskier says, glaring at him. Now that it doesn’t seem like Geralt is any imminent danger of never waking up again, it’s a little easier to be mad instead of just wracked with worry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was...a pack of them,” Geralt remembers haltingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier hums, brushing a hand through Geralt’s hair. He wonders if Geralt would let him get away with brushing it. Maybe he’ll ask when Geralt doesn’t seem so groggy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Jaskier soothes. “You need to rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Geralt automatically protests, going to sit up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geralt, you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, your rib is broken and the healer said one of your intestines might be punctured. You could get sepsis.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Witchers don’t get infections. I’m fine,” Geralt says again, but it’s even less convincing this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just...stay in bed. Can you do that? I know it goes against everything in you to not do your utmost to aggravate me, but listen just this once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt lays back against the pillow, his hair spreading out in a halo around his head. “Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t look so pleased about it, love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If looks could kill, Jaskier would be haunting one very grumpy witcher. “I’m sure you’ll survive,” Jaskier says breezily. “I know, it’s the epitome of cruelty to make you rest. Someone let witcher protective services know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My swords?” Geralt asks gruffly, changing the topic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier rolls his eyes and huffs. Like he would forget Geralt’s swords. “Oiled and put away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be grumpy just because you don’t have an excuse to get out of bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about my armor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier casts a nervous glance to the corner. “I’m afraid that’s beyond my talents. They’re a little shredded.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt follows his line of sight to where his leather armor is in a pile on the ground, blood streaked and torn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I need to get new, then,” Geralt says, attempting to sit up again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>from Jaskier, and Jaskier gives a hum of satisfaction. “I can get it for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jaskier, you don’t even know what to look for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier glares at him. “How long have I been travelling with you for? And you don’t even think I know what you look for in your armor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt harumphs. “Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine?” Jaskier asks in delight. He wasn’t actually expecting to win that battle. Maybe he can get Geralt out of something black, for a change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Geralt says, leaning over the bed to rustle through his pack. Give the armorer this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier takes the drawing and instructions, and he’s ready to skip to the armorer’s, but Geralt’s expression pinches as he settles back into his spot on the bed, so he hurries back to his side. “What hurts?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Jaskier says, taking a page out of Geralt’s book. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier crosses his arms and stares at him for a solid minute before Geralt relents. “My ribs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Now just let me see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He peels back the covers, wincing at the mess that is Geralt’s chest. By the time Jaskier had dragged him back to town, most of his wounds had started to clot, so the healer thought it was best to let them breathe, but now Jaskier has to look at them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He carefully drifts his fingers over the torn tissue and mottled purple of what’s still intact, watching Geralt’s reaction carefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he draws back. “I don’t think there’s anything else I can do,” he admits. “Let me get you something for the pain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt grunts in annoyance, no doubt meaning something about witchers being nothing but vessels for pain or some other horrible thing that they ingrained in him during his nightmare of an upbringing. He goes over to Geralt’s bag, looking for the right roots and herbs to concoct his mixture. He pulls out Geralt’s mortar and pestle, grinding the ingredients together until he has a lumpy paste. He carefully scoops it out of the mortar and into a glass filled with water on the bedside table. He mixes it together vigorously and sets it back on the table for a moment while he helps Geralt sit up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt tries to wave him off, but Jaskier insists. Once there’s three pillows propping him up, Jaskier hands him the glass. Geralt sniffs at it doubtfully. “I think you might be trying to get ready of me,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier hides his laugh behind his hand. “I wouldn’t go through all this trouble if I was, now would I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose not,” Geralt sighs, grimacing as he knocks the whole thing back in one drag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt smacks his lips together, gesturing for Jaskier to get him some more water. “Terrible. Possibly life threatening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome. Can I trust you to behave while I’m gone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt chooses not to dignify that with an answer. “I’ll take that as a no, then,” Jaskier says. “The innkeeper has children, don’t make me make them come up here to watch after you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll behave,” Geralt says dryly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. You better be in that exact spot when I come back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows that means that Geralt is the one who’s going to be ignoring him, for a change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier just hopes that Geralt won’t jostle himself too much as he steps out of the door and into the hallway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes his way down the steps and out onto the dusty main road of the village, peeking at the other wares being sold, particularly eyeing a doublet with stunning embroidery that he can’t believe is being sold in this dank little town, of all places. He makes a mental note to come back after getting Geralt’s armor. Jaskier investigates the baked goods, inhaling the scent of bread and surveying the hand pies, looking at their delightfully golden exteriors longingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier makes it to the armorer without incident, a brass bell ringing overhead as he steps inside. The armorer crosses her arms as she regards Jaskier thoughtfully. “You lost?” she asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier flashes her a winning smile. “Not at all. I’m here for a friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The armorer stares back at him, unimpressed. “You know, it’s important that I’m able to measure someone to give them the best fit. I don’t want someone getting killed and blaming it on my armor. No, if someone dies, it’s going to be because of their own ineptitude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m certain that won’t be a problem,” Jaskier says. “Have you ever made armor for a witcher before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes light up. “Your friend is a witcher? To tell the truth, things have been a little slow around here since the war ended.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll pay you well, don’t worry,” Jaskier says, producing the paper Geralt had given him from his cloak with a flourish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She practically snatches the scroll out of Jaskier’s hands, her eyes roving over the paper. She mutters something to herself before turning back to look at Jaskier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I still need the measurements,” she says. “It’s even more crucial for such an important client.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. Don’t worry, I have them right here.” Jaskier fishes his notebook from his satchel, flipping through until he finds the page with Geralt’s sizes on it. Jaskier swears that Geralt purposely ruins all of his fine clothing between banquets he drags him to, because Jaskier always has to buy Geralt new clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, come to think of it, he’s never seen the evidence of them being damaged, and it’s not like Geralt just wears them around. Jaskier shakes his head as he realizes Geralt probably just sells them. Jaskier supposes Geralt does always swear that will be the last banquet he ever attends after each one, just for Jaskier to talk him into one more, but that’s no excuse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier tilts his head for a moment as he contemplates how to get his revenge, smirking when the idea dawns upon him. Jaskier sketches a quick picture and pushes it towards the armorer. “How much extra would this cost?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks down at the page dubiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier gives her his most charming smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s been three days, and Geralt is sick of lying in bed. No matter how much he swears to Jaskier that he’s better, that his rib has knit itself back together, he doesn’t believe him.. It’s just a bruised rib at this point, but Jaskier doesn’t take pity on him, just offers a distraction for Geralt in the form of being better at gwent than he has any right to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt sighs heavily, looking at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t think that will make me take pity on you, Geralt,” Jaskier says, not even looking up from his composing notebook. “Besides, we have to wait for your armor anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s taking so long?” Geralt complains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfection takes time. Besides, the armorer’s never seen any of your witcher-y things, so you have to give her time to figure it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt groans and sits up, swinging his legs out of the bed. “I can’t take it anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier rushes to him, but Geralt brushes him off. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he growls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier raises his hands and backs away. “Fine, fine. Don’t be so grumpy when all I’ve been doing is taking care of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt glares at him, and Jaskier strokes a hand through his soft hair. “You do deserve it, you know,” Jaskier says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt looks down, a bothersome flush creeping up his neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’ll go check on the armor, since you’re in such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>rush</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “She said it would be done sometime today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt rummages through his pack, hardly looking up at Jaskier. “Good. Then we can finally move on. I was talking to the innkeeper about a wyvern a day’s ride away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, here, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt grumbles as Jaskier leaves, finding himself excited to see the new armor against his will. He so rarely gets anything that doesn’t already have a crust of dirt on it that anytime he has a sword or armor made, he finds himself looking forward to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt goes to the mirror in the corner of the room and lifts up his shirt, noting how the mottled purple has become large splotches of greenish brown. Everything’s looking good, so he sorts his satchel, shaking his head fondly as he reorganizes his elixirs. Whenever Jaskier gets his hands on them, he always sorts them by color, but that’s not what Geralt likes. He could just tell Jaskier to leave his things alone, but he doesn’t have the heart for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt putters around the room, making the bed and hoping that if he’s ready to go by the time Jaskier gets back, he can convince him to move on. He can smell Jaskier’s anxious energy, anyway; he knows Jaskier is just staying here for his benefit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt finishes putting the last of his things into his pack and is just contemplating going down to the stables to see Roach when Jaskier bursts through the door, armor in hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier hands it off to him with a self satisfied flourish, and Geralt freezes as he looks at it. “You can’t be serious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The armorer and I thought it would make you like quite fetching.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jaskier</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, don’t you like it? It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>gift</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Geralt, I’m offended.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt rubs his fingers over the indents in the chest plate. He has so many questions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the new fashion,” Jaskier assures him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a witcher, not a model.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not both?” Jaskier asks airily. He looks around the room. “So, are you ready to go then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier steps forward to help him buckle the new armor in place, Geralt eyeing it dubiously. Besides from the obvious issue of the chest piece, it’s not even black; it’s a dark green that catches and shimmers in the light. Geralt resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. No one is going to take him seriously now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffs a sigh, trying to communicate his displeasure with Jaskier, but as ever, Jaskier seems immune to his glares. Geralt slings his satchel over his shoulder and steels himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they walk down the street, it’s not as terrible as Geralt was expecting. Sure, the sun is glinting off of his abs and blinding him a little, but Geralt doesn’t hear anyone snickering at him. Everyone just walks by, looks at him, and quickly glances at their feet, which is par for the course for the life of a witcher. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt tilts his chin a little higher, thinking maybe this won’t be so bad after all. He has a new spring in his step when he hears someone calling his name behind him. Geralt turns around, thinking it sounds an awful lot like his brother, and he’s proven right when Lambert skids to a stop in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m glad I ran into you; I heard there’s a nest of wyverns a few towns over—” Lambert’s mouth flaps for a second. “What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>are you wearing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt turns to glare, and Jaskier smiles innocently. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope you enjoyed! consider feeding your friendly neighborhood writer with a kudos and/or comment and feel free to come hang with me on <a href="https://contemplativepancakes.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>